The Bonds That Soothe
by keltieful
Summary: After Tarsus, James Kirk finds himself confined in Starfleet medical, slowly going crazy, hacking into top secret 'fleet databases and forming an accidental/on purpose bond with his Vulcan roomie. What's that about time/love soothing all wounds? AU Kirk/Spock


**A one-shot for my lovelies.**

 **Warning: hurt!Kirk, general Tarsus and small mention of child abuse ahead.**

* * *

Jim tried to hold still as doctor after Starfleet doctor came through the room and pushed aside the privacy curtains.

For the last month, the fifteen year old had been confined in various wards of Starfleet medical. To be honest, the majority of that time he had spent in a medically induced coma after Starfleet had finally taken it upon themselves to make an inquiry to make an inquiry into the black spot the Tarsus IV colony had become.

He sunk, deep within his mind, easing the flow of oxygen into his lungs, slowing the very beat of his heart. He wasn't naive enough to think they would leave him alone much longer. If he was still too weak to make the journey by himself, Starfleet would send another shrink to try and 'fix' him.

Like talking about it would help.

He would rather live through the nightmares, hallucinations and general PTSD symptoms.

Starfleet had made the mistake of underestimating James Tiberius Kirk. Just as everyone else in his short, painful life had. These people, these _adults_ thought they knew better than the malnourished, jumpy kid.

He was just another victim to them. They didn't look behind those blank blue eyes to see the stirs of great intelligence. Only a select few had the clearance on 'J.T' to know better. To begin to guess at the depths of his mask. That careful façade, erected to keep everyone out while he watched, gathered data and ran calculations at the speed of light.

There was a reason Jim survived what half of the colony didn't. A reason behind the other children, a few older then himself, followed his lead.

Little 'Jimmy' Kirk was already a master tactician. The last few moths had simply field tested his natural abilities. He could read people, see their ticks, undress the cornerstones of their personalities and act accordingly before they had finished introducing themselves. These qualities, for those that knew of them, had Starfleet both worried and interested. So interested that his case had been taken up by Section 31.

Not that he should be aware of this. Or the existence of Starfleet Black Op's at all.

They should never have given him a room with the kid next to him.

The guy whose steady breathing even Jim's sharp ears could only just detect. The kid with the very expensive PADD and, from what Jim had been honestly thrilled to see, an extensive knowledge of computer sciences (as well as pretty much every other topic known to man). That PADD had better protection than anything Jim had ever seen. It was the perfect device to hack through the Federations defences.

He supposed nothing could be blamed on the doctors. They didn't have much of a choice in his relocation. From what he overheard -bless nurses and their workplace gossip- they were the only two teens in this ward. And Jim had been making a 'fuss' every time someone walked into his room. They'd thought keeping him with someone his own age would help calm him. He _had_ displayed intense protective instincts. At the very least, they hadn't thought it could make anything worse.

Logically, Jim knew he couldn't hold the people here to the same standards he'd come to expect on Tarsus. He shouldn't feel personally betrayed by every Starfleet officer whom he was forced to interact with. He shouldn't still flinch whenever an adult had come into his room.

Jim counted it as an achievement whenever he let someone near without backing into the corner and growling. The medical staff didn't realise how much he held himself back. His palms constantly itched to steal something sharp, a scalpel, a hypo, anything he could defend himself with. He could already tell that these instincts were too engrained within his psyche for them to simply be discarded now he was back on Earth.

The room mate had helped.

He felt safer. The guy was in a coma; the shuttle he had travelled to Earth on had crashed. Something about an attempt on some big shot ambassador's life. Apparently, the Vulcan beside him was the only one who'd been seriously injured.

His mother visited every single day. She'd been in and out, sometimes more than once, every day for the last three weeks. Enough exposure to Amanda Greyson would, no doubt, be cure enough for any ailment. She had a way of making Jim believe in kindness; in genuine selfish acts of love. She spoke to him like an equal, often drawing back the curtain between the twin beds and sitting in the tight space between Jim and her son. She regaled him with tales of a far off planet. A desert world, so different from Earth. _The antithesis of Tarsus IV_.

Winona hadn't visited at all. She hadn't even called.

This was the modus operandi for her. Jim was used to it. It was to be expected.

The first time he'd told that to Mrs Amanda that, she'd cried. Every visit since, she'd included him. She only spoke quietly to her son when Jim excused himself for the bathroom. Something about being in a trance and conscious of his surroundings.

Jim wasn't sure if that was something to be worried about or not. He had used the guy's stuff for not-so-innocent purposes. And spoken aloud -not _to_ him, there was a difference- more than once about, well,, everything. Frank and Winona, the car, Sam. There was something safe about the Vulcan. Like, Jim knew a Vulcan wouldn't give two shits about his emotional instability.

The doctor cleared his throat, tapped his clipboard twice and walked out of the room, door swishing behind him. Jim had yet to see the man but he was the one doctor he could just about stand. He didn't talk. Just came in, pretended not to notice Jim was only faking sleep, did his job and left.

Slowly, Jim opened his eyes, counted to ten and looked out the window. The privacy shades were still drawn. Amanda, the saint she was, made sure to close them every time she came.

Biting his lip, Jim looked over at his Vulcan room mate.

He sat up cautiously, the newly generated skin on his hips and shins pulling slightly, and took a second to breathe. He could do this. Amanda had asked him personally and he really didn't want to disappoint her.

Jim glanced between their beds and winced. He would have to rearrange this a bit.

Taking his first step since Tarsus, he stumbled over to Spock's bed. It felt weird thinking of him by his name. Like somehow, because he hadn't given it to Jim himself he wasn't allowed to or something. Names were a powerful thing.

Slightly shaking hands pushed back the white, Starfleet issue covers and grabbed one of Spock's. He paused momentarily, taking a few precious seconds to just look.

The Vulcan had nice hands. Long, elegant fingers to match those pretty ears. He wanted to touch. Twine their fingers. Feel the strands of silky midnight hair. Jim was sure he'd read somewhere about Vulcans and their hands. Maybe that's why his palms itched and tingled.

Hand where he could reach it from his own bed, Jim hobbled the two steps back to his own and climbed back under the covers. When he was comfortable, Jim reached out and took hold of Spock's hand once more, threading their fingers together. There was a strange buzzing inside his bones where they touched. It travelled up his arm, spine and into the back of his head.

Jim could feel _something_. It was akin to a cat brushing against his legs. But in his head.

 _Oh._

Or, it could be like a telepath nudging at an unknown mind whilst in a healing trance. Right. Touch telepathy. Hands.

Jim felt the press of Spock's mind against his own. It truly was a curious sensation. He closed his eyes and imagined pushing back, brushing against Spock.

He could feel the alien mind reach out to his own. A sort of bridge formed between them and then he was joined by _Spock_.

The connection between them thrummed with life and a certain peace. It was nice, to be so connected to someone. To know what they felt. A place without lies or pretences. He could trust this. And if he was reading the bombardment of strong emotions correctly, he was very much approved of. That was, it was worth more than anything Jim could quantify.

A hiss from the 'outside' broke the spell and Jim yanked their hands apart. He could feel Spock in those last moments as he strained to keep their minds secured. Jim reacted instinctively, holding on to Spock as a sort of tunnel stretched between them.

A nurse bustled into the room. She puttered around talking to herself like she had a captive audience. Jim drew away from her presence to explore the link. He stopped at it's entrance as he vividly recalled the tunnel stretching into the Other dimension in the ancient movie, Coraline. Why his mother enjoyed that film, he would never know.

In contrast, their link was bright, warm and inviting. Spock called and Jim answered.

* * *

Spock, through the pain of flushing out infection and rebuilding broken muscle and bone, felt the spark of light and love and _Jim_ immerse himself in his mind. He could feel the muted Human feelings. Wonder, an answering pain, awe. The need to help and soothe. It was nothing Spock had ever experienced before.

A mate.

His mate.

His _t'hy'la_.

Having been in the trance so long, restoring so much damage, Spock's emotions were rampant. Their gilded cages lay at the bottom of his mind, imagined doors handing off their hinges.

Joy and protectiveness battled to enshroud Jim's presence.

And Jim bypassed it all in his search for Spock.

Spock cleared the way let Jim enter his control centre. The bright spot, Jim's very katra, drew up beside him. It flickered from gold to blue and set about the room, healing Spock's minor injuries. The things he'd overlooked in his rush to stabilise his own life.

Distantly, he could hear people. Alarms ringing.

His heartbeat sped up. As did Jim's.

Spock took a deep breath. And another. And another. He kept breathing, forcing Jim's body to do the same. With Jim's help it wouldn't be long before he could break the trance. He'd been 26.169 hours from reaching a peak functioning capacity, regardless.

From what he'd learned, from his mother, Jim and the babble of medical staff, his Jim needed more sleep. More sleep his Human would get.

Gently, Spock pushed the Human from his mind. He affectionately brushed against Jim's mind, ever eager for contact between them. With ninety percent of his customary concentration he fixed the last of his injuries. Another ten percent was devoted to simply monitoring Jim and pushing back unpleasant dreams.

Within five hours, Spock was finished the majority of the work. Doctors could patch up anything he missed. He needed his mate.

 _Safe. Now._

Spock opened his eyes, flicked back his second eyelid which was handy in the stark medical room, and sat up. He ran a test of his internal functions before hearing his mate sigh.

Brown eyes snapped up, taking in the physical form of his mate for the first time.

He was beautiful. Starved and much too skinny, with dark bags under his eyes and slightly greasy blonde hair. His Jim was shorter than other Humans Spock had met and there were what looked like tiny sores marring the tanned skin of his cheeks. Acne, his mother once called it. His mate was sick. Had been hurt so much. He was amazing.

Spock slid off his bed and landed silently. He padded across to where Jim's bed had been positioned when his vitals began to fade. It was much too far. His mate needed to be close.

Fixing the problem was simple.

Spock lifted himself into the bed, arranged his body around Jim's and pulled the younger boy closer. That was better.

At his touch, Jim began to stir. Spock watched as blonde eyelashes fluttered open to revel clear blue eyes. He purred lightly and nuzzled into Jim's throat. The loving actions drew a contented sigh from his golden Human.

 _Mine._

As he inhaled Jim's scent, Spock licked and nipped at the bare flesh. Beneath him, Jim moaned and then stiffened. Confusion raged through the bond. Spock keened and stroked his fingers through the short blonde hair.

He arranged his fingers over Jim's meld points, eyes searching for permission. Jim nodded and, like slipping off a second skin, Spock dove into his mind.

From the vast blank of Jim's mindscape, Spock created Vulcan. The scorching heat. Lightning in sand storms. Bullies and splashes of green blood. He let Jim take in his past, his thoughts, emotions and actions.

Slowly, Jim drifted closer. His indecision drifted through the space and lent the colours an odd purple sepia.

Decision made, Jim flared and the landscape changed. For as far as Spock could see, rows of _Zea mays_ spreading as far as the eye could see. A breeze blew through, ruffling the storks like the touch of an invisible hand. It was aesthetically pleasing, in it's own way. Finally, Jim pushed forth his memories.

A mother who turns her back. A brother who leaves. A father, dead; his face in the mirror. Frank and unending pain. Time on Tarsus. Children, adults dying before him. Blood on snow. Blood on his hands. His children. So much death.

Spock clutched Jim tighter, pulling his further into his embrace. No one would ever touch his mate again. He would kill them before they could hurt his Jim.

The corn field faded away and a large stone house, built in to the red cliff side, materialised. The doors opened and a strange force pulled them inside.

There, lying on the floor was I-Chaya. The room blurred. A younger Spock was reading, head resting on the sehlat's broad back. Outside, the barely noticeable seasons passed. Amanda came forward. She bought with her feelings of belonging and contentment. Hugs and gentle eyes. The brush of lips across his forehead.

When he felt warm lips brush across his own, Spock broke the meld.

"You'll stay?" Jim looked up at him with unguarded, endlessly hopeful eyes.

"Always and never, touched and touching."

His Jim sighed and snuggled further into his warmer, Vulcan body.

* * *

Two hours later, Dr. McCoy came through the children's ward. It was his last walk through of the night. And by the gods was he glad to have to have the thirteen hour shift almost at an end.

He stepped into the last room, the one containing his most difficult patient.

To find the Vulcan kid awake. And wrapped around J.T.

Leonard blinked. He was only the country student who won the scholarship. His xenobiological skills were pretty non-existent, but he was pretty sure the green blooded hobgoblin wasn't supposed to be growling at him.

He glanced down at his watch and back at the two teens.

J.T's vitals were fine. He was deeply asleep; for the first time since Leonard had been assigned his attending doctor. He seemed to have eaten his dinner.

Leonard shrugged. It was more progress than anyone had been able to weasel out of the kid before now.

He had a feeling it would be fine.

* * *

 **If you're reading my other K/S stories - Distress and/or Entwine - the new chapters will be out by Saturday. :D**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I don't make money from this. No offence intended.**

 **Feel more than free to write me a word or two and tell me what you think. c:**


End file.
